


In Sickness

by gonergone



Category: As Time Goes By
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 11:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonergone/pseuds/gonergone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why are you assuming I volunteered you for something?"</p><p>"You can never say no to that woman."  </p><p>"That's not true!" Jean exclaimed.</p><p>"Really?" Lionel snorted.</p><p>"Really!"  Jean insisted.  "Well," she added quietly.  "I <i>may</i> have told her that we'd be happy to help out at the auction for Help the Aged."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Sickness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lbilover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lbilover/gifts).



Jean was shelling peas into a large glass bowl when Lionel came home from his evening walk. The house was quiet in the early evening, the girls not yet home from the office, and he paused in the kitchen doorway for a moment, kicking the last of the winter slush from his shoes.

Jean jumped. "There you are," she said, surprised. "You were gone for a while. Did you stop in at the pub?"

"You said Phyllis was going to stop in," he explained, pulling out a chair from the table and sitting down with the post.

"You don't like Phyllis?" She wiped her hands on her pinny and checked the steaks in the oven.

"It's not that I don't like her," he explained carefully, "but she's one of those people who's always getting other people to work on things."

"It _is_ her job," Jean pointed out. "She's a volunteer coordinator." She pushed the bowl of peas aside and began chopping the carrots.

"Exactly," Lionel agreed. "As I have no intention of allowing myself to get sucked in to work on one of her activities, I thought it was best if I was well out of her line of fire."

"But it's important, the work she does. It's all for charity, you know," she turned to look at him.

Lionel sighed, flipping through the pile of envelopes. "I didn't say it wasn't worthwhile. I just said that I'm not interested in getting involved. It's all rather a lot of work." He saw the look on Jean's face and went still. "Please tell me you didn't."

"Didn't what?" Jean asked, her voice raising two octaves, as it always did when she was trying to hide something. 

Lionel's eyes narrowed. "You know what."

"Oh, I see. You can't be bothered to give a little time and energy to people who have less than you do."

"I certainly never said that."

"No one can expect you to lend a hand."

"I never –"

"Even just for a few hours," Jean emphasized, waving the knife.

Lionel pinched the bridge of his nose and took a few deep breaths. "What did you volunteer us for?"

"Why are you assuming I volunteered you for something?"

"You can never say no to that woman." 

"That's not true!" Jean exclaimed.

"Really?" Lionel snorted.

"Really!" Jean insisted. "Well," she added quietly. "I _may_ have told her that we'd be happy to help out at the auction for Help the Aged."

Lionel nodded to himself wearily. "I see."

"You don't have to help if you don't want to. I mean I can't make you, can I?" Jean asked quickly.

"An auction?"

"Yes, a furniture auction. It's the sort of thing that gets donated but won't fit in the charity shop. It shouldn't take more than a few hours of time to run."

"That means a few days, in reality," Lionel grumbled. Suddenly his eyes went wide. "I don't have to be an auctioneer, do I?"

"Of course not."

"Really? I wouldn't put it past you to promise I'll be there in a clown suit."

"I didn't promise anything specific. They just need bodies there to direct it."

"That doesn't exactly rule it out, does it?"

Jean put her hands on her hips and pinned him with a glare. "Lionel, I promise you that no one is expecting you to be an auctioneer, show up in a clown suit, or whatever other ridiculous notions you might have. I don't want you to feel as if you're being roped into anything, but if I remember correctly, you quite enjoyed the last do we put on for them."

"I did enjoy it," Lionel agreed. "I just didn't realize it was going to be a permanent fixture in our lives."

"It's one auction, Lionel. 'Permanent fixture,' indeed."

"Next year I'm sure it will be something else," he protested. "I suppose Judith and Sandy will be helping as well?"

Jean turned back to the counter. "If they like," she said hurriedly. "Which I'm sure they will; _some people_ enjoy this sort of thing, you know."

"You haven't even asked them yet," Lionel said accusingly, laughing.

"Well, not yet," Jean admitted. "Though I'm sure that they'll want to."

"Oh, you're sure of that, are you? You're going to strong arm them into it." 

"I'm going to do nothing of the sort."

"Guilt them into it, then," he conceded. "It's really the same thing."

"I'm only going to ask them if they'd like to help out, and remind them that really have very little in life, so the money they make from this auction will be very useful. They're going to use it for some sort of recreation facility, Phyllis said, so I'm sure the girls will be able to spare a few hours in the afternoon to help."

"Like I said, you're going to guilt them into it."

Jean ignored him. "We'll need to see if there's any furniture we can contribute, too."

Lionel snorted, but looked away when Jean glared at him again. "There isn't anything we don't use, is there?"

"Just a small table or something. We have to contribute _something_ to the auction. Tonight we'll take a look round and see what we can do without."

Lionel was immediately suspicious. "After dinner? Exactly when is this auction?"

Jean chopped more forcefully. "Saturday," she admitted.

"You mean two days from now Saturday? That Saturday?"

"Of course I mean that Saturday. You don't have to say it like that. There isn't much to do, really. Phyllis has rented the hall and got all the people organized. She just needs people there to help set up and that sort of thing on the day itself. That doesn't sounds so bad, does it?"

Lionel shook his head in disbelief and got up.

"Where are you going?" Jean asked in surprise.

"To get a drink. I think I'm going to need it."

*

Jean was finishing her bath when she heard Judy and Sandy leave for the office the next morning. She poked her head into Sandy's room. They'd decide, finally, to donate the old bookcase that'd been left over from the days when Sandy's bedroom had been a spare room for storage. Sandy had sworn she didn't use it, and it was dutifully cleared off and ready to be picked up for the auction. Along the back of it, where no one would ever see, Jean knew there was a large gouge in the wood, where David had knocked it against the bannister bringing it up the stairs when they'd moved in. It all seemed so long ago, and Jean supposed it _had_ been a long time ago. Still, she thought someone might appreciate the oak bookcase, with its heavy wood shelves. It wasn't the sort of thing that was made anymore. 

"Lionel?" she called. When there was no answer, she went out to the top of the stairs and called again. The house was silent around her. 

She waited at the top of the stairs for about thirty seconds before going back into Sandy's room, checking her watch and beginning to fret. The truck would be there any minute. The bookcase had been emptied and pulled out from the wall. It really didn't look that heavy. Bracing her hands under one of the shelves, she tried to lift it. It moved surprisingly easily. 

She carried it carefully out of Sandy's room, hitting the doorway twice and leaving a small dent in the plaster. She paused at the top of the stairs, trying to work out how she was going to carry it down. The staircase had never seemed quite so steep or so long before. Finally, gathering her courage, she picked it back up, turned and started making her way cautiously down, gripping the top of the case between her thumb and fingers and balancing it between her two hands.

She was concentrating so hard on the bookcase that she wasn't paying attention to her own feet. On the fourth step she slipped, and started to topple down the rest of the flight. Her hand shot out for the bannister and she caught it, barely, but the bookcase kept going, wrenching her right arm and making her crash into the stairs. It hit the floor and the collection of boots and things by the door, falling into the small table with a terrific clatter and making the pictures sway slightly with the impact.

Jean got up gingerly, terrified something was broken, but her legs and arms were all in working order. It was only when she tried to straighten up her back that a pain hit that was so sharp it took her breath away. She clutched her back, resisting the urge to cry out only because there was no one home to hear it.

Slowly, she shuffled her way down to the bottom of the stairs and into the sitting room, pausing every couple of steps and leaning into the wall. She collapsed on the sofa with a groan, falling over onto her side. 

It felt like hours until she heard the door bang shut. 

"Lionel?" she called, or tried to. Anything above a ragged croak shot waves of pain up her back.

There was a pause in the entryway. "What on earth is this bookcase doing here? It's blocking the hall." Jean could hear him shifting it out of the way, the wood knocking against the wall. 

"Lionel," she tried again.

"Please tell me you didn't try to move this by yourself," he went on, oblivious. Eventually he came in, still wearing his coat. He took one look at her and his eyebrows rose. "What on earth happened?"

"I had a bit of trouble with the bookcase on the stairs."

"I can see that. We're lucky it's not in pieces. Why are you lying down?"

"I seem to have wrenched my back."

"Are you all right? Silly question. Do you need a doctor?"

Jean tried to wave a hand and cringed at the pain. "Of course not. It's just a good wrenching, nothing damaged beyond repair."

"How do you know? Backs can be terrible things to hurt. You're not a doctor."

"No, but I was a nurse. I just need a bit of a rest and maybe a heat pad. There's one upstairs in the drawer with the hot water bottle." 

Lionel sat down beside her, careful not to jostle the sofa too much. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly.

"I'll be perfectly fine," Jean assured him. 

"I told you not to try to move that bookcase by yourself. What on earth were you thinking?"

"I was managing well enough until I got to the stairs."

"There's a gash six inches across in the plaster next to the door. That could've been _you_. I know this may seem like another silly question, but _why_ were you moving the bookcase by yourself?"

"The truck will be here soon. We need to have the bookcase ready for them."

"What do you mean, ready?"

"Well, you know – out on the stoop, so they can load it into the truck."

"Out on the stoop?" Lionel repeated incredulously. "I'm very sure that the company will send us stout lads to help us move it."

"You don't know that!"

"Stout women, then. Either way, they can't expect everyone to move the furniture by themselves." 

"Of course they do. They're not going to traipse about in people's houses. Where were you, anyway?" she asked, changing the subject before Lionel could reply properly. Truth be told, she was feeling a bit fragile for a row, and if Lionel got worked up enough he'd never let it go.

"Out to get a paper."

"We have a paper," Jean pointed out.

Lionel snorted. "I went to get a paper I could actually read without sticking to it. I don't understand how Judith and Sandy can get it into such a state just by reading it. There's marmalade smeared all over the front page. If I'd known you were going to try something foolish I wouldn't have gone."

"I wasn't being foolish," Jean argued. "It was an empty bookcase. It didn't seem terribly heavy. I just slipped on the stairs, that's all. It could easily have happened with you in the house."

"You could've killed yourself," Lionel harrumphed. 

"I'll be perfectly fine if you just get the heat pad." She tried to smile reassuringly. "Honestly."

The doorbell went, and she automatically moved to get it before freezing in place.

"Oh, you'll be fine," Lionel mocked gently. "Look at how fine you are."

With some effort, Jean managed to sit up straight. "That will be the truck." She made a shooing motion with her hands.

"I suppose I should let them in?"

"Of course you should let them in!"

"I just wanted to make sure you didn't want me to load the bookcase into the truck myself. Maybe carry it all the way to Surrey for them?"

"Really, Lionel, you _are_ being ridiculous."

The bell went again, and Lionel got up, muttering all the way into the entryway. "Oh, _I'm_ being ridiculous…" There was a pause as the door opened, and then the stomping of many feet. "Yes, it's just here, you see," Jean heard him say. "We had a bit of a mishap getting it down the stairs." 

"You didn't have to do that, sir," a deep male voice replied. "We're meant to be the ones moving the furniture."

Jean knew that if he could have, Lionel would he glaring at her. 

"I see," Lionel said gruffly. "Next time we'll know." 

The door shut, and she heard Lionel's feet on the stairs. Eventually he came back into the sitting room holding a slip of paper.

"They gave us a receipt," he said. "Where do you want it?"

"On the desk, I suppose," Jean said absently. "Did they get it moved out all right?" 

"Yes, fine. It was a bit banged up where it hit the wall, you know." She waited for him to get it out of his system and point out how wrong she had been – how disastrously, preposterously wrong – but he didn't mention it at all. Underneath everything, Lionel was really a good, sweet man, who liked the world to think he was much harder and more uncaring than he ever could be. That was why Jean loved him.

"I should think it's still useable, though," Lionel went on. "Anyway, it wasn't in the drawer." 

"What?"

"The heat pad."

"Of course it is. It's just under some other things."

"I looked under the other things, and it wasn't in there."

Jean gave an exasperated sigh. "I'll get it, I'll get it," she muttered. She tried to stand and immediately crumpled in pain.

Lionel was at her side in an instant, helping her lie down. "Ex-nurse or not, I really think you need a doctor."

"I'll be fine."

"You don't look fine."

"That's not very chivalrous of you," Jean said, surprised.

"No, but it is honest. Can you say the same about your 'I'm perfectly fine'?"

"I am – I _will be_ perfectly fine."

"You just need a rest."

"I just need a rest," Jean agreed. 

*

By the time Sandy and Judy came home, Jean had created quite a little burrow for herself on the sofa. Tea was laid out on the coffee table, alongside a notepad and her address book. A blanket was tucked neatly under her chin, and the television remote and a small bell sat just within reach.

"He gave you a bell?" Sandy asked, giving it an experimental ring. "Isn't that sweet?"

"I promised I'd be extremely restrained in my use of it," Jean told her, taking it back. "Though it would serve him right, after what he put me through when he had the flu."

"Are you really all right?" Judy asked. 

"Of course I am. Just wrenched my back, love. Nothing too serious."

"We picked up a heat pad on the way home. They're hard to find, you know."

Jean sighed. "We _have_ a heat pad. I just need to get upstairs and look for it."

"Lionel said we didn't."

"He just doesn't know how to look." She took the bag gratefully, though, and pulled off the wrapping. 

"Should we call a doctor?" Sandy asked.

"We don't need a doctor. Lionel's taking care of me. I do think he might need help with supper, though, if you're looking for something to do."

Judy hesitated, and she and Sandy exchanged a look. Jean wondered what else Lionel had been telling them. "If you're sure. What's all this writing?" She pulled the notepad closer and inspected it.

"I'm making a list of everything that needs to be done for the auction."

"I thought we were just helping out a bit."

"We are," Jean insisted.

"Mum, there are thirty different things on that list," Judy pointed out. "That's not just lending a hand territory anymore."

"It's very minimal sort of organizational things."

"Someone else can do that, can't they?"

"I can do it," Jean told her, taking the pad back and holding it against her chest. "I'll be fine in the morning."

"You will?" Sandy asked skeptically.

"Perfectly fine. In fact, I'm feeling much better already."

"So you don't need to have your supper brought in here, then?"

"No, of course not."

Sandy and Judy exchanged another look.

"Well, that might be a good idea, actually," Jean admitted. 

"You're not going to sleep on the sofa, are you?"

"I wasn't planning on it," she said, but her face had grown thoughtful.

*

"Are you sure there isn't anything I can do?" Alistair asked on Friday afternoon. His mobile was out and open, fingers poised to type in a number. "Lovely lady, you know I'd be the last person to doubt your medical expertise, but are you sure going to hospital is a bad idea? I know a guy, and I'm sure I can get you in to see an A1 doc tomorrow morning. Just say the word."

Jean heaved an exasperated sigh. "How many times do I have to tell everyone? I really am fine!"

Alistair frowned but reluctantly put the phone away. "If you're sure," he said. "I can at least help with the organizational details of the auction, can't I? I mean, what are friends for?"

"It's very sweet of you to offer, Alistair, but – " Jean started.

"Didn't I do a great job with the wedding?"

"Of course you did, but I don't need any expertise. I've got the situation completely under control. So under control, in fact, that I don't need babysitters. Judy, last night you said you were going out tonight, didn't you?"

"Yes," Judy said slowly. "But it wasn't anything important. I could just as soon stay in tonight and watch television."

"Me, too," Sandy agreed. 

"You're going out," Jean told them firmly. "Both of you. You too, Alistair."

Alistair raised his eyebrows. "I can –"

" _Out_ ," Jean told them.

Judy and Alistair looked at each other. "That's us told, I think," he said.

"Are you going to chuck me out as well?" Lionel asked, sitting down in his chair with a drink.

"Not at the moment, but I reserve the right," Jean told him.

*

"You asked him to stop by, didn't you?" she asked after Alistair and the girls had left.

"I just thought it might be a good idea. He did do wonders at our wedding," Lionel reminded her.

"He did do that," Jean agreed. "This isn't really on par with a wedding, though, is it? I'd feel silly asking for help with it."

"The way you're planning it, it is." He picked up her list and read through it. "Do you really need to plan for so many people?"

"You have to have extras. There are always more people that show up to these things."

"Don't you think you're taking too much on?"

"As I've said a hundred times –"

"You're fine."

"I am fine, and it's only an auction. People come in and bid, and then – and then they… do something else."

"You've never been to an auction," Lionel accused, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I will have after tomorrow. And I know what they're like, anyway."

"You have no idea!"

"All right, all right! I don't know what it'll be like. That's why we're just helping out _a bit_. I'll be fine."

"Go up those stairs, then, if you're fine. You're going to have to eventually anyway. I'm not bringing you a bedpan."

She pushed herself up slowly, cringing when she was half hunched over. She held onto the arm of the sofa for as long as possible, then shuffled carefully to the doorframe, immediately leaning against it. 

"Would you like a hand?" Lionel asked her, practically in her ear.

"That would be nice," she told him, and leaned on him as they slowly went up the stairs.

*

As they were lying in bed, Jean sighed. 

"Worried about tomorrow?" Lionel asked.

"I'm sure it will go –"

" – absolutely fine," he finished. "I know." She could feel him watching her in the dark. "Why won't you go to a doctor?" he asked quietly. 

"I can't. That would be like admitting I'm old." 

"We're not exactly in the prime of life, are we?"

"No, obviously not, but I'm not ready to admit I'm getting to the point where bits of me will just keep failing until I need a wheelchair to help me around and I never get out of my pajamas all day long."

Lionel considered that. "I think I wouldn't mind that, as it happens. Besides, there's no implication of old age in throwing out your back. Young people do it all the time."

"I never did, when I was young." 

"Well, I did. Rather a lot, as a matter of fact. It's an easy thing to do."

"Easy?"

"People are always having trouble with their backs. I didn't feel particularly old about it, either. And I wouldn't now."

"I'm sure I'll feel better in the morning."

"I certainly hope so," Lionel muttered, turning onto his side. 

*

Jean blinked at the sunlight streaming through the bedroom window. "Lionel?" She asked, still half asleep.

"Hmm?" Lionel stood at the bottom of the bed in his dressing gown, his pajamas folded over his arm. 

"What time is it?" She rubbed her eyes.

"Only just six. I'm going to have a bath." 

"Six? It's Saturday, you know." 

"I know, but I want to miss the mad rush for the bathroom."

"What rush? Judy and Sandy won't be up for hours."

"They will this morning. We have the auction of the century happening this afternoon, in case you'd forgotten."

Jean frowned at him. "I haven't forgotten, I just didn't think anyone would be up."

"We're going to help you, and we're going to do it properly. That means getting up early," Lionel assured her, headed for the door.

"Oh, aren't you lovely. I suppose I'll go and get breakfast ready if everyone is really going to be up." She stretched carefully and winced in pain.

"Back bothering you?" Lionel asked knowingly.

"No, not at all. Maybe just a twinge."

"You know, you're really taking stoicism to the next level."

Jean gave him a stern look. "Go and take your bath."

*

" _Mum_ ," Judy said as soon as she saw her hobbling into the kitchen.

"Don't start. Morning, Sandy."

"Morning, Boss. We thought you might need a hand getting things ready. We've got coffee on," she said, handing Jean a cup. "Toast okay?"

"I was going to make the breakfast," Jean protested weakly. 

"We've already done it. What else can we do?" Judy held up the list. "It says 'write speech.' You don't really have to do a speech, do you?" 

"I'm supposed to announce things, at the beginning and end of it, so people know where to go."

"Alistair would be great at that," Sandy said.

"Of course he would be," Judy agreed. She looked Jean in the eye. "And he'd love to help."

"It's a bit last minute, isn't it?"

"We actually asked him last night, and you know Alistair – he wouldn't miss out on a chance to help this family for the world."

"We also made some other arrangements for entertainment," Sandy added, somewhat hesitantly.

"Did you?" Jean asked a little anxiously. "There's no budget for entertainment, you know." 

"I wouldn't worry about that. They won't be expecting payment." Judy smiled.

"They were eager to come and help, actually," Sandy told her.

Jean looked back and forth between them. "Who?"

"Beauregard and Lulubelle Dupree offered to do a little singing."

Jean closed her eyes briefly. "You didn't."

"A country and western theme might be just what's needed, and you know Rocky and Madge; they can't sit still for anything."

"Does Lionel know?"

"Yes, of course he knows. He called them last night from the kitchen," Judy assured her.

"He never said a word about it," Jean said wonderingly. 

"Well, that's Lionel, isn't it?" Judy said.

"What else is on the list?"

Judy peered at it. "Just cleaning up the hall and setting out the chairs, which we're going to go do as soon as we've had our coffee." She held up her mug.

"Right," Jean nodded. "We can all fit in the car, I think. I was going to bring some supplies, but they should all go in the boot."

Judy looked at Sandy. "Well, actually, we're going with Alistair," she told her. "Lionel can drive you over afterward."

"Afterward?"

"Alistair has people coming in to do the setting up. You don't need to be there for that."

" _All_ the setting up?" Jean asked incredulously, setting down her coffee cup.

"They’re professionals, these people. I'm sure they can set up the chairs and that sort of thing."

Jean shook her head. "It's a wonder I even bothered getting up this morning. You girls seem to have the whole event in hand." She blinked once. "Oh, I see."

"We just want to help, that's all," Judy assured her. "And with Alistair, once you give him one green light he arranges everything."

"I do know Alistair," Jean sighed.

Judy made a face. "It's my fault, Mum. I told him to do it." 

Jean leaned over, wincing, to kiss Judy's cheek. "Thanks, love."

"So I'm forgiven?"

"You're forgiven." Jean laughed. "Good old Alistair. Sometimes I don't know what we'd do without him."

"Let's hope we never find out."

*

It was after noon when Lionel helped her into the car. 

"You really don't have to go," he reminded her again before he started the car. 

"Lionel," Jean said warningly. 

Sighing, Lionel pulled into the street.

*

"You're going the wrong way," Jean told him, watching the streets.

"There's traffic," he said vaguely.

Jean frowned at him. "There isn't. It's Saturday."

"There's always traffic in London."

She looked at him. "You're a terrible liar."

He shrugged. "I've always said that I'm not, despite your best efforts, deceptive by nature."

"Why did you miss the turn off?"

"Because I'm taking you to the doctor."

"You're not serious. Are you kidnapping me?"

"I am extremely serious. I love you, and I'm not going to sit by and watch you suffer because you're too stubborn to deal with things properly. Alistair got you an appointment. Obviously I can't force you to do anything – nor would I want to. However, I am driving you to his office, and it's going to be very awkward if they have to call the police because two strange people are loitering in their carpark for the rest of the day. I'm trusting you to be an adult and do the last bit on your own." He paused. "Well, not literally on your own, of course – I'll help you walk through the door."

"I have been a bit silly about this, haven't I?"

"Yes. But I'm used to that."

"I suppose we'll never make it to the auction. With Alistair throwing it, we may be missing the party of the century."

"I think we'll live," Lionel muttered.

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "You do put up with a lot, don't you?"

"Not more than I expected, really," Lionel said honestly. 

Jean reached over and squeezed his arm, and they shared a smile.


End file.
